2006-04-19 - 2:38 a.m.
I am grumpy today because I am going to have to blow off the Little Paper Awards for the sake of work. You see, it is a common theme in my life that I cannot plan a single thing. The moment I say to myself, “well, tonight is the night I am going to go to the Little Paper Awards downtown,” is the same moment in which my phone is going to start a-buzzing off the hook with demands to read this or that script and to review this or that movie. I suppose I should be glad, since work is a good thing, but I know that tomorrow there shall be nothing and here I shall be, cross and irritable.
Anyway, here I am at the Novel writing movie reviews to start. A gentleman with a huge mustache, wearing suspenders to keep up his clown-like baggy pants, is wandering around outside. I suspect the fellow lives in a group home somewhere on the beach. Have you ever noticed how group homes always seem to be on the beach? I wonder why that is. Why do the loons and the homeless get the nicest parts of town to live in for free? Meanwhile, the poor shlub has just run out of the café and has sneezed EXTREMELY loudly.
He has also emitted a massive, globular stream of mucuous – not just a string, but a huge wad, probably about a pint of the stuff. It has flown out of his nose, and, since he is not the sort of person to use a handkerchief, or, god forbid, to cover his face when he sneezes, the phlegm has all but COVERED the parking meter about six feet away from him.
This means that the next person who parks in the space near the meter is in for a singularly unpleasant surprise when they put a quarter into the slot. He or she will either put his or her hand right in the middle of the slimy glob of mucus – or the mucus will dry and he or she will touch the meter and catch the monstrous, disgusting cold that it’s clear the filthy wretch is suffering from. In this way is the plague spread. Have you heard that they’ve spotted the first case of Bubonic Plague in Los Angeles since 1908? Who needs Green Monkeys to spread disease?
Meanwhile, sitting at a table below me is this prim, prissy looking girl, wearing a tight black sweater shirt, and a flowing brown peasant skirt. She’s extremely young – about 23 or so – and has the extremely earnest manner of a young grad student. She is wearing little round spectacles and her hair is tied in a tight bun. Her face is exceedingly serious, and the lips of her mouth are pressed in a tight line as she earnestly is looking at what looks like a series of lab printouts. Atop the table she has a copy of a book entitled “I NEVER CALLED IT RAPE!” which I venture to think is a self help book for people who endure sexual harassment and want to believe that they have been raped. Why do I not think that I would hate this woman if I ever got to know her?
So there I was, a few short hours later, sitting at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in Venice, reading a screenplay about a fat man who has lived in his attic for 20 years and has to be buried in a piano case when he dies, when I found myself getting into this conversation with this large Italian-looking gentleman sitting on the sofa next to me.
Next to him were seated his young son and daughter, both quite beautiful children of around 12 or 13. The daughter was particularly gorgeous: When she finished her puberty, I could immediately tell that she would be a real heartbreaker of the Italian-American variety.
The father, though, looked just like he might have stepped off the set of some mob movie. He wore a velour track suit, unzipped half way down his hairy chest, on which dangled a glinty St. Christopher’s Medal. His hair was jet black and framed an amusingly meaty, jowelly face that looked as though it had nibbled many a cannoli. We got to talking, as he found the fact that I was a screenplay reader, to be incredibly fascinating.
“Yo,” he grunted. “Ya see, I am an actor. Mebbe you saw me in THE SOPRANOS? I appeared in two episodes during d’ere fifth season.”
“Ah,” I replied. “I’m afraid I stopped watching THE SOPRANOS during season two, when they cut off my free HBO. What role did you play?”
“Ehh, nudding big,” the goombah grunted. “It waddn’t a big part. I was just a doorman an’ a bouncer in some of those shows. But fuh shoor you can see me in ‘em!”
“Oh, how cool!”
The Sopranos star leaned forward with a smirk. “So, lemme tell ya. Ya wanna know how the series ends? I’ll tall ya.”
“Of course,” said I.
“OK. So there ya are. The last episode – id looks like Tony’s gonna get arrested. But then – wham! He wakes up. Id’s all a dream!”
The Italian actor roared with laughter, rocking back and forth, beating his meaty knees with both hands. “So it turns out dat Tony actually just works as a clerk at a Walmart in da Midwest. And the other wiseguys – well, d’ere just clerks in de other departments! And Meadow and Carmella – they’re just the cashiers. It wad all a dream! Hee hee hee!”
“Well, I never!” I gasped, amazed at this secret information. Of course, I do not believe that this is the way this notorious TV series is actually going to end up – but just in case it is, I thought I’d better recount the tale here.
Mind you, I was never much of a SOPRANOS kind of guy. As I think I might have mentioned before, I am more of a DOCTOR WHO geek. And, are you not happy for me, now that the new season of DOCTOR WHO has started airing on the BBC, with the episodes being rapidly available (somewhat less than legally) for download off the net?
Not that I would ever illegally download anything – oh no. That would be such a wicked thing to do! But every so often a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, who does such deplorable things, lets me watch a dub of a perfectly legal VCR tape he made from an English friend who has his Doctor Who tapes sent directly from London – all perfectly legal, you know. And, thanks to the magic of Quick Air Delivery, I can often watch these new episodes of DOCTOR WHO within hours of their being aired in the UK!
To be honest, I can think of no better birthday present than a whole new season of DOCTOR WHO. It is the best thing in all the world! In the last episode of the previous series, the Christopher Eccleston Doctor Who “regenerated” into this new character, now played by David Tennant. The new actor does not seem to have found his footing quite yet in the part: Eccleston was fantastic, reinventing The Doctor as a sort of working class yob/pirate, but Tennant is rather more of an Arthur Dent-like eccentric.
And his chemistry with Rose Tyler is subtly different, more forced than it was before. However, the first episode of the season was really quite cracklingly written, I must say, with the Cat Nurses and the Ancient Face of Bo and the return of Cassandra, the Last Human. I have to admit I was particularly delighted by the sequence in which the evil Cassandra possessed Rose, adhering to the Time Honored Doctor Who tradition of having the Doctor’s Traveling companion being taken over by a baddy at some point or other.
Oh dear, am I getting too dorky for you? Well, screw you! We all have our secret vices. And when I am not thinking about sucking cock, I am thinking about DOCTOR WHO. This is not as odd a dichotomy as you’d think, either, since DOCTOR WHO is produced by the same guy who created the English QUEER AS FOLK, and the show is suffused with a gay sensibility that all but has The Doctor dropping to his knees and doing the buttocks dance with every hunky male alien he comes into contact with.
Meanwhile, since we’re on the subject, as my birthday approaches this Saturday, and now as I am getting almost as old as The Doctor and The Face of Bo combined, I must confess to being pleased that, whatever else happens, there is sex. I figured that as I got older, there would be much much less opportunity for dirty behavior – I can even point to excerpts of this very blog in which I wrote that, as I approached 40 I was preparing myself never to have sex again. However, such has not been the case!
And the weird thing is, this past month, I have had tons of perfectly hot gentlemen dropping by – and I don’t think any of them has been older than 27! What is going on with the young gay men of today? In my day, gay young men were steadfastly opposed to hooking up with their elders. I know that I myself would sooner have had sex with a girlie than to have boinked an old ghoul such as myself. And I often talked with my contemporaries who said the same thing.
Nowadays, though, kids hooking up with guys old enough to be their fathers, or, rather their Uncles, ahem, is rather common. I won’t say that it is EXTREMELY common, but it enough of a minority to be more than just a “kink” or “quirk.”
The other day, I invited over this sweet, quiet, but closet casey young blonde kid, around 23, who worked as an assistant at some entertainment company. He had pulled the night shift, and was just finishing with his day, and wanted to get off. Again and again, the boy insisted he was straight, and even made me play straight porn on the TV while I sucked him off. However, I also took an opportunity to rub my own shlong against his butt – and when I did, I could not help but notice that his cock got MUCH harder, and he started breathing faster and faster.
I was having a bit of trouble getting the kid off, too -- until I hit upon the idea of pressing my cock against his leg, sort of humping it like a dog. He then squeaked, in a very soft voice, “Oh! I’m coming!” And so he did. I finished myself off by squirting all over his chest and face – covering him, if you don’t mind my saying. And, judging from the hunger in his eyes as he watched my unit, the young man has a bit of self realization to go through in his future.
And then there was the 22 year old kid – Eurasian, half-Chinese and half-White – who came over within fifteen minutes, because it just so happened he lived no more than 10 blocks away. He just wanted to be sucked off and rimmed – but it was one of those situations in which the sex tends to sort of get out of control once the motors are running, and before I knew it, my cock was buried deep inside his ass, and I was pumping him doggy-style, while he moaned and howled and screamed for more. With one profound thrust, I made him cum – and his orgasm I have to say was probably the loudest one that occurred in my apartment in the year 2006. I was glad it was during the Work Day and not the middle of the night, because I don’t think I could stand another note from my upstairs neighbor, complaining about how “my loud television” kept him awake.
Then there was the 23 year old Italian kid who came over and dropped to his knees almost instantly, hungrily fishing my shlong out of my sweatpants and popping it into his mouth like it was a meal to be served to a starving man. How he slurped and grunted with pleasure! He told me that his favorite thing was to give pleasure and he just wanted to suck and suck and suck and suck. I laid him on his stomach so I could play with his round, boyish bubble butt, which was covered with slight fuzzy hairs, while he sucked me. And the kid just kept going! I asked him, “Jeez, aren’t you getting tired?” And he replied, “Oh just another 20 minutes PLEEESE?” Well, all right.
Eventually I made him cum without using his hands but just running my tongue over the back of his balls. “Oh!” he squeaked. “You’re gonna make me CUM right NOW if you keep doing that. Oh! Oh! OH!” And then after that, he smooched me, and said, “Now, I want to see cum shoot out of THAT thing.” I put him to work licking my balls and ran my fingers through his hair, until I finished myself off. You see, that always does the trick for me: It’s the idea of someone dedicating himself so fully to my pleasure that brings me to orgasm every time.
There are more boys, as well. But I think it would sully the name of Doctor Who to list all of them here. That is for some other time. But rest assured, we shall meet again soon, for, as you will know, Johnny Darling-mas is coming April 22! Mark the date on your calendar now!
